


the world will follow after

by friendlyghost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (but it's practically canon anyways), Anal Sex, Big Dick Geralt, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dopplers, M/M, Scent Kink, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyghost/pseuds/friendlyghost
Summary: The thing about dopplers is that while they know their target’s mind, they aren’t all that skilled in actually impersonating them. It’s easy to look like the baker’s wife and to know that she’s having an affair with the laundress down the road. It’s much harder to know not to kiss the laundress in front of the baker.In which a doppler impersonates Jaskier, Geralt realizes some things, and then they (Geralt and the real Jaskier) have sex. In that order.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 71
Kudos: 2031





	the world will follow after

**Author's Note:**

> There was a throwaway line at the beginning of episode five about dopplers usually being friendly and helpful. This fic is about that doppler. It was conceived under pain of insomnia and exhausted my brain so much that I developed a sleep schedule while writing it. 
> 
> I've only watched the Netflix show so like, bear with me re: the rotfiends/zombie things from episodes 7 & 8\. Thanks to Jenna for proofreading and to them, Kale, and Hilary for their support and encouragement.
> 
> This was fun! I tend to rely very heavily on dialogue so writing Geralt was a fun challenge :') I wish you as much enjoyment reading as I had writing. 
> 
> Takes place sometime between episodes 5 and 6 of the show. Title from [Accidentally in Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOfisAF09AA) by Counting Crows.

When he returned to the campsite, Geralt knew immediately that the Jaskier sitting near Roach wasn’t actually Jaskier. One: Roach was shifting nervously, which she would never do around the actual Jaskier. Two: they had parted ways just a few days before; it usually took them weeks, if not months, to begin traveling together again. Three:  _ it didn’t smell like Jaskier. _

Also, the lute it was artistically plucking was out of tune.

“Is he alive,” Geralt growls, not bothering to make it into a question.

The creature jumps, making the out-of-tune lute twang. It grates against Geralt’s ears.

“Of course I’m alive, Geralt, I’m right here!” it says, doing a credible impersonation of the face Jaskier makes when someone insults him.

“Stop playing games,” Geralt says. He unsheathes his sword and holds it at the ready. “We both know you’re not Jaskier.”

The creature pouts even harder. “He’s alive, we promise! We haven’t touched him! All we want to do is help you.”

Geralt sheaths his sword. A run-of-the-mill doppler, then. Usually responsible for accidental adultery, rarely actually dangerous.

“You can’t enter any towns,” Geralt tells the doppler.

“We understand. We’ll leave when we’re done helping,” it says.

Geralt grunts.

“But...would you not like to bathe in the river?” it asks, titling Jaskier’s head to the side.

It is in that moment that Geralt remembers that he is covered head to toe in monster guts and has at least one open wound on him. He sighs and turns to the river.

* * *

The thing about dopplers is that while they know their target’s mind, they aren’t all that skilled in actually impersonating them. It’s easy to look like the baker’s wife and to know that she’s having an affair with the laundress down the road. It’s much harder to know not to kiss the laundress in front of the baker. Most of the time, dopplers want to help the people around whoever they impersonate by revealing something that the person wouldn’t reveal themselves or by helping others come to a realization. Geralt knows he’s bad with humans. It makes sense that he’s somehow missed something about his and Jaskier’s relationship, and he’s willing to tolerate a doppler’s assistance in the matter. He is  _ not _ willing to tolerate an unending bad impersonation of Jaskier. The real thing is bad enough.

The doppler behaves accordingly.

Traveling with the doppler is, in many ways, better than traveling with the real Jaskier. It doesn’t fill his ears with unending mindless chatter, it gave up pretending to play the lute on the first day, and it stays out of the way while he goes on hunts.

It’s less helpful than the real Jaskier when it comes to collecting payment. And Roach is forever nervous around it, understandably so. Dopplers don’t mimic the scent of the people they impersonate. It’s disconcerting for Geralt as well.

That’s probably the worst part of having the doppler with him, if Geralt’s being honest. He doesn’t really care that he’s traveling with a monster. It stays out of the towns and isn’t hurting itself or anyone else, so it’s not worth killing. But even though it _looks_ like Jaskier, it doesn’t smell like him. It walks differently from him. It has different speech patterns. It’s jarring to smell almost nothing and hear footsteps, and even more jarring to turn and see that the form of your ~~best friend~~ ~~only friend~~ ~~Jaskier~~ bard is the source of the footsteps.

It’s  _ weird _ , is all Geralt’s saying.

But as the weeks go by, he begins to miss other things about the real Jaskier as well. It’s odd to be traveling with a Jaskier who’s nearly silent, not filling the space with friendly chatter and rude songs and embellished ballads. Traveling without the real Jaskier means less coin, which means less time spent in inns, which means fewer warm baths and absolutely no massages. Damn him, he’s starting to miss Jaskier’s endless smothering, the way he fusses over any new injury of Geralt’s. He’s not so far gone that he misses Jaskier’s fondness for ridiculous outfits, however. Small mercies.

There’s some other things Geralt misses as well. The way Jaskier yawns when he’s tired, and the warm content that emanates off of him when he’s sleepy and curled up in bed for the evening. The fastidious nature of his massages, and the precision with which he cares for Geralt’s wounds. The way he writes songs, both the raunchy ones and the ones designed to improve Geralt’s “image”. His near-perfect memory, as encyclopedic for music as Geralt’s is for monsters.

The triumph in Jaskier’s eyes after a particularly good evening of performance. The way Geralt can look to him when he’s not sure how to respond to someone, and he’ll have some guiding facial expression at the ready. The way he looks whenever Geralt gently snorts at a particularly raunchy song, or half smiles at a good joke.

That fucking wink and the way he had the nobles eating out of his hand as he sang about a fishmonger’s daughter at the Cintran betrothal dinner.

The panic in his eyes when the djinn took his voice after Geralt’s accidental wish. The way he looked, unnaturally still and silent and  _ small _ , laid out on Yennefer’s bed after she healed him.

Oh.

Hmm.

“Hmm,” Geralt hmms.

The doppler glances over at him, but doesn’t say anything.

Geralt thinks he understands what it wanted him to know.

* * *

The doppler spends a good ten weeks traveling with Geralt. It may have spent longer, except at the end of the tenth week, the real Jaskier comes across their campsite.

“Hullo, Geralt,” Jaskier says, stepping into the clearing where he and the doppler are camped. “I thought I recognized Roach’s beautiful shiny coaaaat Geralt that’s not the real me.”

Geralt doesn’t bother to look up from cleaning his sword. “It’s a doppler. They’re harmless.”

“Wh– how–  _ harmless _ ?” Jaskier splutters. “It looks like me! Did you know it wasn’t me, Geralt? Did you know?”

“Mm-hmm,” Geralt says, still cleaning his sword. “Figured it out before I saw it.”

“And you just let a fake copy of me travel with you? For no reason?” Jaskier says.

Geralt stops cleaning and looks up at him. “It was trying to help.”

“ _ Help _ ? How could a, a fake copy of me be  _ helpful _ ? It can’t record your adventures, it can’t tell jokes, and one look at that lute tells me it makes a  _ terrible  _ bard—“

Geralt feels the corner of his mouth twitching up and looks down again to hide it. He can’t help it. He really did miss Jaskier.

“We wanted to help you too, Jaskier!” the doppler says.

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt sees Jaskier’s mouth drop open.

“We met you three months ago, in a tavern. You said—“

Geralt isn’t looking up at Jaskier, so he can’t see his expression. But panic has a unique scent, one that he’s familiar with after so many years of monster hunting. The less primal emotions—embarrassment, surprise—are harder to detect. But panic is easy, and something the doppler said made Jaskier smell of it.

“Yes, thank you, I remember what I said. I suppose you’ll be off, then?” Jaskier says. Something in his voice makes Geralt look up in surprise. It’s got a tone to it that usually only comes out when someone’s insulted him.

“We told Geralt we would leave when you came back, so yes,” the doppler says. It stands up and—blech, these sorts of transformations are never fun to watch—takes the form of a well-built villager, someone you could reasonably expect to see traveling alone without attracting unwanted attention. Geralt approves.

“Hey,” he says. Both the doppler and Jaskier turn to look at him. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Geralt tells the doppler. “I don’t want to get a contract asking me to kill you, understand?”

“We’ll try!” the doppler says, waving at them. Its cheerful attitude is at odds with the blacksmith it appears to be. “Safe travels, Geralt!”

He and Jaskier watch the doppler walk down the road.

“Why didn’t it wish me safe travels,” Jaskier mutters. Geralt doesn’t reply.

* * *

Jaskier’s incessant chatting resumes almost immediately. It’s a relief. Geralt feels like he can trust his senses again—the voice is Jaskier’s, the speech and songs are Jaskier’s, his familiar steps follow alongside Roach and his scent is Jaskier’s as well. He thinks he understands what the doppler wanted to him to know even better, now. There’s something tempting about the bard’s soft lips and gentle face, the sweep of hair across his brow. The difference in their heights is only a few inches, but Geralt can’t help but feel like he dwarfs Jaskier’s smaller frame.

“I bet Roach didn’t even notice I was gone,” Jaskier complains. “Since some other version of me was traveling with you, isn’t that right, pretty lady.”

Geralt looks down towards Jaskier from where he’s seated on Roach. “She noticed. Dopplers can’t copy scent, and she knows yours by now.”

“It didn’t...smell like me?” Jaskier asks, sounding more than a little confused.

“Mmm,” Geralt grunts. “Dopplers can make themselves look like people they see or meet. They copy the person’s mind as well as their appearance, but can’t actually replicate their...personality, or scent, or movement. Makes it obvious when you know what to look for.”

“So when you say you knew right away that the doppler wasn’t me, you actually did know right away, because it didn’t  _ smell  _ like me,” Jaskier says, sounding delighted. Geralt glances down at the exact right moment and happens to catch Jaskier looking up at him, an oddly vulnerable-hopeful expression on his face. It’s a variation on a theme he’s seen hundreds of times, usually accompanied by a shift in scent. Geralt didn’t smell anything, but he’s also usually much closer to someone looking at him like they want to be kissed.

“Hard to mistake that stench of yours,” Geralt says, and nudges Roach into a trot. Jaskier is left behind, spluttering indignantly after him.

“If you’re so bothered by my stench, then we should stay at an inn tonight,” Jaskier says once he catches up to Geralt.

“Hmm,” Geralt says. A bath wouldn’t hurt, in all honesty. And it’s been a while since he got to soak in a tub instead of a cold river.

“Great! There’s a town up ahead, we should reach it before nightfall and we can have warm beds and baths and suppers,” Jaskier declares. Seemingly done with the conversation, he starts playing a tune Geralt doesn’t remember on his lute. The lyrics are bawdy, even by Jaskier’s standards, and Geralt finds himself huffing out a breath more than once.

The rest of the journey to the inn passes similarly, with Jaskier alternating between spontaneous chatter and cheerful songs, and Geralt listening quietly all the while.

When they reach the town, maybe an hour before sunset, the harried alderman tells Geralt that there’s been bodies coming out of the graveyard and attacking the villagers. Geralt sighs, mutters “Rotfiends,” and asks for a smaller sum of money than he probably should. But Jaskier steps up and wheedles the alderman into getting them free board at the inn if they survive, which Geralt is indescribably grateful for. They still have to pay for food and Roach’s care, but a free night’s stay is no small thing.

The two of them head to the inn, to leave their bags with the innkeep and Roach at the stable. Arrangements taken care of, Geralt heads to the town’s small graveyard, Jaskier following behind.

“Jaskier, I need you to stay here,” Geralt says as they reach the gate into the graveyard. “Rotfiends are dangerous. If they bite you, you could become one of them. You need to stay put and lock the gate and run away if one comes toward you, understood?”

Apparently understanding that Geralt is being serious, for once, Jaskier nods and doesn’t say anything. Geralt claps him on the shoulder and heads into the graveyard to wait.

He slugs back a potion as the sun passes below the horizon. Only minutes later, the rotfiends pull themselves out of the ground. There’s only two, but two of these bastards is still dangerous. The only reason the town still lives is because their graveyard is fenced. It takes him a long few minutes to slay them, carefully ensuring that he doesn’t get bitten in the process.

After wiping down his sword, Geralt returns to the entrance of the graveyard where Jaskier waits, a dark stain across his side and the copper scent of blood emanating from him—

“You’re hurt,” Geralt growls, pressing close to Jaskier and running his hand across the blood stain. He can’t feel a wound, maybe it’s further down or somewhere on his back—

“Geralt, Geralt, I’m fine,” Jaskier says frantically, hands pushing at Geralt’s chest. “I snuck closer to watch the fight and some blood landed on me, I came back here right away, neither of them hurt me I  _ promise _ .”

Geralt pauses his search and looks at Jaskier. He’s in earnest, Geralt realizes, and the blood on him is sticky and drying, not wet and hot and steadily increasing.

Geralt’s hand is still on Jaskier’s waist, and Jaskier’s hands are resting on his chest, curled into loose fists. Geralt’s backed him against the roughshod fence surrounding the graveyard. For a moment, they stand still and silent, neither speaking a word.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, voice low and rough.

“Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier replies, face tilted up towards Geralt’s.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” Geralt lowers his head, tilting it to the side: telegraphing his intent.

“I make no promises,” Jaskier replies. His eyes are at half mast, soft mouth parted slightly.

Geralt closes the gap between their bodies and kisses Jaskier as tenderly as he knows how, his other hand coming up to cradle the bard’s face. Jaskier is still for just a moment, until he moans into the kiss and relaxes in Geralt’s arms, going practically boneless. Geralt moves the hand resting on Jaskier’s waist to the other side of his body, providing support and holding Jaskier close. He feels Jaskier’s hands move from his chest to his shoulders up to his hair, tugging gently as his fingers tangle themselves. Geralt pulls Jaskier impossibly closer in response, smiling into the kiss slightly as he listens to Jaskier’s soft moans and gasps. The bard can’t manage to be quiet even during this; it’s exactly what Geralt expected and a million times better than he thought, all at the same time.

This feels right, Geralt finds himself thinking; there’s something  _ right  _ about holding Jaskier in his arms and kissing him like this. Geralt’s had plenty of lovers, both men and women, but the ones he’s spent more than a night with are few and far between. Even out of those, Geralt is hard-pressed to think of one he’s known longer than Jaskier, went longer without sleeping with. Jaskier’s body feels good and right pressed against his, softer than Geralt’s but warm and comforting all the same.

Geralt feels himself growl as he pulls away from Jaskier’s mouth, sliding over to his jaw to press kisses across it, down the side of his neck and to the edge of his collarbone. Geralt sweeps his tongue out and groans at the taste of pure unfiltered  _ Jaskier  _ he gets. He pauses in his ministrations to bury his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and just  _ breathe _ , finally getting access to the scent he’s been missing for the past two and a half months.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, tugging at his hair. Geralt presses one last open-mouthed kiss to the crook of Jaskier’s neck before allowing himself to be pulled up.

Jaskier is on his way to suitably disheveled, all flushed cheeks and reddened lips and heavy breathing. His hair isn’t as mussed as Geralt would like it; he makes a mental note to change that when they go back to kissing.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, we have a nice warm room waiting for us at the inn,” Jaskier says, tugging gently at Geralt’s hair. “Nice warm baths as well, and if I’m to be taken I’d like to be clean first.”

“And you plan on being taken? Is that how you want this night to go?” Geralt says, rubbing his thumb against Jaskier’s cheek. He can feel the hoarse rumble in his voice, the deep register he reaches only in times like these. His eyes are locked on Jaskier’s. He can still feel the potion coursing through him, so his eyes must still be solid black; Jaskier doesn’t seem bothered at all, though.

“I- I mean,” Jaskier stutters, looking away from Geralt and then back to him, poking his tongue out and swiping it across his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes drop to it instinctively before meeting Jaskier’s again.

“It’s how I would like this night to go, yes, assuming you have no complaints—” Jaskier gets out, before Geralt says, “Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier says.

“When have I ever said no to putting my cock in someone.”

That startles a laugh out of Jaskier, and he pitches forward, nestling his head into the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt smiles slightly and presses a kiss onto Jaskier’s hair.

“I’d be honored,” Geralt says into Jaskier’s hair. “But you’re right, we should bathe first.”

Jaskier pulls back just far enough to place a sweet, unselfconscious kiss against Geralt’s lips. Geralt feels his eyes flutter shut in response, and he tries his best to return the same amount of sweetness.

It takes Geralt a few seconds to open his eyes once Jaskier has pulled away.

“Let’s go back to the inn,” Jaskier says softly. He grins mischievously and adds, “I’ve been dreaming of having your dick in me for  _ months _ .”

The sound of Geralt’s snort of laughter follows them out of the graveyard.

* * *

When they get back to the town, the alderman is unsurprisingly reluctant to give them their coin—probably not helped by Geralt’s eyes still being solid black. Jaskier gives him a look that brooks no argument, and he takes the hint and goes to pet Roach while Jaskier wheedles the alderman into giving them their hard-earned money.

Roach is tucked up in a stall in the barn, warm and cozy with plenty of hay. Her saddle is on a rack next to the stall, her bridle hung up next to it. She nickers when she sees him enter.

“Hey, girl,” Geralt says softly, stepping close. She butts her head against his chest and he laughs softly, reaching out to rub the skin around her eyes. Once it’s been suitably de-itched, he moves to scratching all of her other favorite spots—all under her mane, her withers, the one spot on her rump. Geralt feels the remnants of the potion finally fade from his body as he pets Roach, his eyes returning to their normal yellow-orange color. He’s scratching the spot on her rump and watching her stretch her neck up in response when Jaskier comes to get him.

“I figured you’d be here,” Jaskier says, leaning on Roach’s stall door. He tosses a coin purse to Geralt. “I got your pay, and I stopped by the inn on my way to ask them to bring some food to our room and prepare a bath.”

Geralt catches the coin purse handily and raises his eyebrows.

“And they’re doing both those things as we speak,” Jaskier says.

Geralt hums happily before giving Roach one last pat. He’s very, very ready for food and an actual warm bath, and to touch Jaskier’s bare skin everywhere he’s allowed. As he leaves Roach’s stall, Jaskier doesn’t move out of his way, forcing them to stand close. Apparently someone wants a kiss. Geralt reaches around to pat Jaskier's ass instead, and then saunters on towards the inn.  Jaskier’s spluttering, indignant laughter follows Geralt as he walks away.

Jaskier catches up to Geralt easily and leads him up to their room in the inn, as he’s the one who knows which it is. When they get inside, the fire is roaring and there’s dishes of meat and potatoes on a table. Their bags are in a corner near the bed, which is on the opposite wall from a fire. The surprisingly large bath—big enough for them to fit in together, even if they won’t be able to stretch their legs out—sits between the bed and the fire.

Geralt turns to Jaskier, eyebrows raised. “You bathe, I eat, and then we switch?” Jaskier says, clearly having done the same survey of the room that Geralt did.

“You don’t want to bathe together?” Geralt asks. He wants to bathe with Jaskier, wants to rub a wet cloth across his body and scrub soap into his hair.

“We probably should, shouldn’t we,” Jaskier says, casting a longing glance at the steam rising up from the bath.

“The food will keep,” Geralt murmurs. He places his hands on Jaskier’s hips and turns him towards the bath, walking them forward steadily. It’s tempting to grind his cock into Jaskier’s ass, but Geralt simply presses their bodies close together as he walks them forward. When they reach the base of the tub, Geralt reaches up to tug Jaskier’s doublet off his shoulders. He tosses it to the side unceremoniously, and takes a moment to run his hands down Jaskier’s shoulders and arms, now only covered in a thin chemise.

Jaskier twists around so he faces Geralt. “You know, it is extremely unfair that you get to undress me when I have no idea how to get all of that—“ he gestures to Geralt’s armor— “off.”

Yeah, that’s fair, Geralt decides, and nods in agreement. He takes a step back, only for Jaskier to say,

“Whoa whoa whoa, I didn’t mean you should  _ go  _ anywhere,” and try to tug him back towards the tub.

“I need more room than this to get my armor off,” Geralt says.

“Oh, well then by all means,” Jaskier says, letting go of Geralt’s hands immediately. Geralt turns around and walks a few more steps away, keeping his back to Jaskier as he begins to doff his armor. “But don’t you expect me to be fully dressed when you turn back around, good sir,” Jaskier continues. Geralt can hear him taking off his shirt, hopping on one leg to get his boots and pants off. For a moment, he can’t help but wish Jaskier could smell arousal the same way he can; he wants him to know how very badly he wants him, to know how the sound of him undressing makes Geralt’s blood run hot.

Geralt takes off his armor, boots, and socks, leaving only his pants and shirt. “Better?” he asks, turning around only to see Jaskier lounging against the tub, completely and fully nude, looking nervous but with his cock half-hard against his thigh, two spots of color in his cheeks.

Geralt growls and practically  _ stalks  _ back to Jaskier, shoulders loose and head lowered. He presses Jaskier back against the tub and kisses him hard. Once again, Jaskier melts into his arms with a soft moan, allowing the kiss to turn open-mouthed immediately. Geralt runs his hands down Jaskier’s sides, brushing his nipples with his thumbs and making him gasp. He does it again, just to hear that soft noise, before letting one of his hands snake between the tub and Jaskier’s body. He grabs his bare ass with that hand, wrapping the other around the back of Jaskier’s head. He tugs Jaskier’s hips forward and slips his thigh in between Jaskier’s legs, encouraging him to grind down.

Everything about Jaskier is soft and small compared to Geralt, from his shoulders to his legs. His warm skin feels so  _ good  _ under Geralt’s hands, littered with only the occasional scar, quiet moans coming from him as he rubs his bare cock against Geralt’s still-clothed thigh. Going by the scent, he’s probably getting pre-come on Geralt’s clothes, and Geralt literally could not care less.

Remembering the spot he found before, Geralt breaks their kiss to bury his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck once again, inhaling the combined scents of Jaskier and sex. And apparently Jaskier wants to take advantage of the moment of peace as well, as his hands come up to start undoing the buttons on Geralt’s shirt. Geralt dutifully leans back just a little, not untangling their legs or moving his hands just yet.

“You’re very intense, you know,” Jaskier says, a lot breathless and voice about an octave deeper than usual.

“Hmm,” Geralt hmms.

“I mean it,” Jaskier continues, unbuttoning Geralt’s shirt as he goes, “I’m used to sleeping with pampered noblewomen, you know. They expect you to do all the work, all but the most adventurous ones.”

“Mmm,” Geralt says again, carefully balancing Jaskier against the tub so that he can move his hands, allowing the bard to push his now-unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. “If we’re exchanging observations, then I have to say: you’re very loud.”

Jaskier, about to undo the laces of Geralt’s pants, pauses. “I’m  _ loud _ ? That’s what you have to say about my bedroom prowess?”

“Mhmm,” Geralt says. “It’s no wonder you keep getting caught by their husbands.”

Jaskier’s mouth drops open and he pushes Geralt away from him. “Just for that, you get to take off your pants yourself while I get in the tub,” he says, wriggling off Geralt’s leg and turning around. Geralt pauses in undressing to watch Jaskier’s ass as he climbs into the bath. It’s a little flat, but not nearly as pimply as that squat little nobleman claimed. Geralt wants to get his hands all. over. it.

Jaskier sighs so dramatically that it’s practically a moan as he submerses himself in the water. Geralt can take a hint. He shoves his pants off and climbs into the bath, leaving them in a pile on the floor. A bit of water splashes out as Geralt sits himself down behind Jaskier, bracketing the bard’s legs with his own. There isn’t enough room in the bath for them to stretch out, but it’s nice all the same.

Jaskier’s head lolls onto Geralt’s shoulder. “Are you going to bathe me, then? I’ve been told I’m a delight to wash, and I’ve washed you so many times that you should really return the favor.”

“If it was a whore that told you that, she was lying,” Geralt murmurs, already grabbing the washcloth and swirling it in the water. As he rubs some soap on it, Jaskier says, “Well, yes, but she still said it.”

“Hush,” Geralt says, running the cloth down Jaskier’s back. For once, Jaskier does as he’s told, the only sounds he makes small noises of happiness as Geralt washes his upper body. He avoids Jaskier’s cock for now, instead helping him turn around in the bathtub so that he’s sitting opposite from Geralt. Geralt takes care with Jaskier’s feet—they carry him around all day, after all. He washes first one foot, then the other, then switches back to the first leg and goes ankle to knee, leaving his thighs for last. The whole time, Jaskier’s eyes are closed, his face relaxed. As Geralt finishes with Jaskier’s legs, he says, “Come back here,” helping him turn back around into Geralt’s embrace.

“I think you missed a spot,” Jaskier says.

“You’re right, I did,” Geralt replies. “Here, tilt your head back.” Jaskier does so, and Geralt carefully scoops up water and pours it on his hair. Once it’s suitably wet, Geralt grabs a bit of soap and starts scrubbing it in.

Jaskier moans softly before saying, “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’ll get there when I get there, Jaskier,” Geralt says. Their voices echo in the room, no other sounds but the splashing water and the crackle of the fire. He tilts Jaskier’s head back again, and scoops up more water to wash the soap out, careful to not get any in Jaskier’s eyes.

The whore may not have been entirely lying to Jaskier. Not that he needs to know that; half of the pleasure Geralt is taking in washing him is that it’s  _ Jaskier  _ he’s washing, and not someone else.

When the hair washing is finished, Geralt considers the wash cloth. It’s not as soft as he would like it to be, so he leaves it where it is on the side of the tub and simply covers his hand in soap. By now, Jaskier is completely relaxed against Geralt, the passion of earlier having melted into something just as intimate but entirely nonsexual. That changes as Geralt reaches down to wrap his hand around Jaskier’s soft cock.

True to form, Jaskier moans immediately, almost directly in Geralt’s ear. Like this, Geralt can easily fist the entirety of Jaskier’s cock. He can feel it stiffening, but even as it gets hard, Geralt can still fit most of it in his hand. He carefully rubs the soap along Jaskier’s cock, back down into his pubic hair and up his cock again, making sure to gently clean his foreskin. Jaskier moans softly off and on throughout the whole thing, which changes to gritting his teeth and twitching when Geralt moves his hand down to Jaskier’s balls.

Geralt pauses. “Not a fan?” he asks.

“No, not really,” Jaskier says, knuckles white where they’re gripping onto the side of the bath.

“Was I right about the ox?” Geralt asks, moving his hand out from between Jaskier’s legs.

“ _ No _ ,” Jaskier says defensively. “I’m just—sensitive, that’s all. Don’t you have anything you dislike in bed?” he asks, twisting around to look at Geralt.

Geralt considers the for a moment. There isn’t any specific act he dislikes, per se, but there are a few positions. Although...

“I don’t like hurting my partners, or restraining them, and I don’t like having the same done to me,” Geralt says, after a long moment of consideration. He’s had people who specifically want one or the other come after him, and somehow, they’re always disappointed that he doesn’t want to hurt them or be hurt himself. If Jaskier is one of them...

“Really?” Jaskier says, twisting around further so that he’s kneeling between Geralt’s legs. “I...don’t know why I’m surprised, actually. You don’t like killing anything or anyone if you can avoid it.”

Geralt hmms and doesn’t say anything, sitting in the slowly-cooling bathwater with his arms spread out around the rim of the tub and his best friend between his legs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jaskier says, wet hands coming up to cradle Geralt’s face. “I’ll admit, my tastes are a little different. But it’s something I like, not something I need. I’m perfectly happy with a night of passionate lovemaking.”

“What about more than a night?” Geralt asks, voice husky, turning his head to the side and pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s palm. He wants more than a night. He desires Jaskier, loves him equally as a friend and a romantic partner. He doesn’t particularly care to be in a relationship with only one person, but Jaskier seems like he understands that.

Jaskier’s eyes soften. “More than a night is more than welcome. Maybe not all the time, but I’d certainly be open to doing this more than once.”

Instead of speaking, Geralt nods and continues looking at Jaskier. He’s washed Jaskier, and he’d be perfectly happy to move straight from the bath to bed, but if Jaskier wants to wash him, he’s not going to say no.

“Oh, and it’s your turn to be washed now, is it?” Jaskier asks, grabbing the washcloth off the side of the tub from where Geralt left it and covering it in soap.

“Before the water is completely cold, if you please, Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs. Jaskier scoffs and begins quietly rambling about some new song he’s writing as he washes Geralt. Geralt relaxes into the bath and hums in response when appropriate, following Jaskier’s guidance for where he should move when. Jaskier even washes his hair for him. It’s nice. Previously, when they had done this, Jaskier had allowed Geralt to wash his own cock or ignored it entirely. This time, Jaskier mimics Geralt’s earlier actions, covering his hand in soap before gingerly wrapping it around Geralt’s cock. Jaskier’s hand very much does  _ not  _ wrap around it in its entirety. It’s a pleasant reminder of the differences between their bodies, of Geralt’s strength and bulk versus Jaskier’s more slender form. Geralt can feel himself getting hard as Jaskier washes him, but just as he did earlier, Jaskier ignores his arousal in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

When Jaskier is done bathing Geralt, he sits back and says, “Okay! Up!”

Geralt blinks at him.

“Get out,” Jaskier says. “There’s one more area I need to clean, and I’d prefer you weren’t in the tub with me while I did so. Go get us a towel.”

Oh.

The reminder of what this night is leading up to has Geralt’s cock twitching, and he leans over and kisses Jaskier intensely, licking inside his mouth, before pulling away and growling, “Don’t keep me waiting.” Jaskier blinks and nods, and as Geralt gets out of the tub, he says, conversationally, “Made a stop by the brothel down the road earlier.”

“Why?” Geralt asks, wringing his hair out with a towel. Jaskier reaches one arm behind himself before answering, “To tell them a very tragic tale, of course. The tragic and—ah!—worrisome tale of how I’m to take a male lover tonight, for the very first time, and I don’t have any idea what to do or how two men come together.”

Geralt, about to put the towel away, pauses and turns back towards Jaskier. “That’s a lie,” he says, confused.

“Oh yes,” Jaskier says, face screwed up in focus. “Got us free oil, though.”

“Of course it did,” Geralt says, rolling his eyes. He grabs the other towel and walks over to where Jaskier is still in the tub, and holds it up for him for when he’s done.

“Thank you Geralt, you’re very kind,” Jaskier says as he steps out of the bath. He reaches for the towel, and instead, Geralt rubs it all over Jaskier’s head and body before wrapping it around his waist, to Jaskier’s cries of “Ach! No! What are you doing?” and general laughter. Once Jaskier is dry to his satisfaction, Geralt steps back and nods approvingly. Jaskier sighs and walks over to his bags and pulls out two small vials. One of his hands is holding onto the towel, keeping it at his waist.

“So, are you going to take me to bed or not?” Jaskier asks, waving the vials teasingly at Geralt.

Geralt says nothing, and simply looks at Jaskier. Takes in the way the light from the fire makes shadows dance on his skin, the way water from his still-wet hair rolls down his collarbone to his chest. The way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the tension in the room steadily rising. Geralt allows himself to look at Jaskier and  _ want _ , and is pleased when Jaskier looks back at him without flinching. He’s had a ghost of his friend traveling with him for the past ten weeks, and now he has the real thing ten feet in front of him, mostly-naked and entirely willing.

What the fuck am I doing, Geralt wonders, and puts on a boost of speed to get across the room to Jaskier. Before he can say anything, Geralt’s mouth is on Jaskier’s, using the kiss as a distraction to get the vials from his hand. It’s effective.

Oil acquired, Geralt backs Jaskier against without breaking the kiss, steering him with a hand on his waist. The towel gets lost in the two feet it takes to get there, and when they reach the edge, Geralt places the vials on the side table before gently picking up Jaskier and laying him down on the bed, quickly crawling on top of him. Like this, the slight difference between their heights feels exaggerated, Jaskier’s smaller frame almost delicate beneath his. Geralt props himself up on his arms and brushes Jaskier’s hair back, his own falling in a curtain around them.

And then Geralt is being turned over onto his back, Jaskier’s hands on his shoulders and his legs around his waist. Suddenly Geralt is looking up at Jaskier, at his mischievous grin and the heat in his eyes.

“Geralt, did you forget about your cock?” Jaskier asks, grinding down and rubbing said cock against his own.

Geralt  _ had  _ forgotten. He’d been so focused on Jaskier that he’d tuned his own arousal out entirely. That’s changed now, and Geralt groans through clenched teeth, one hand coming up to Jaskier’s hips and the other wrapping around their cocks. Jaskier had gasped when he first ground their cocks together, thin and high-pitched, and is now outright moaning softly as he and Geralt fuck Geralt’s fist together. Geralt’s had noisy partners before, usually whores who fake their enjoyment until Geralt makes them  _ actually  _ scream, but none so genuine in their enjoyment as Jaskier. It’s pleasant; Geralt just hopes they don’t disturb any of the patrons downstairs. Getting kicked out of the inn before either of them get to come would be nightmarish.

First one of Jaskier’s hands slips off Geralt’s shoulders, than the other, bringing their bodies closer together, and Jaskier’s lips within kissing distance. Geralt does so, bringing the hand on Jaskier’s hip up to tug gently at his still-damp hair. Jaskier’s hands slide up to tangle themselves in Geralt’s hair, and then they’re  _ really  _ kissing, mouths open and tongues twining together, Jaskier moaning softly into Geralt’s mouth. Moans that are steadily increasing in pitch as Geralt gets them off, as their kissing devolves into panting into each other’s mouthed.

“Hold on, hold on,” Jaskier says, pushing himself off of Geralt. Geralt pulls his hand off of their cocks as Jaskier leans over to grab a vial of oil from the small table beside the bed.

Before Jaskier can do anything else with it, Geralt grabs the vial from his hand.

“I can prepare myself,” Jaskier protests, making a grab for the oil that Geralt is doing his very best to keep out of reach.

“You’ve seen my cock. You probably won’t do a good enough job,” Geralt says. He’s never hurt anyone, man or woman, by sleeping with them, but then he’s always taken caution beforehand to prevent that very thing. Even Yennefer had raised an eyebrow at actually seeing his...member.

“Oh. Well, that’s probably true,” Jaskier says, shoulders slumping. He sighs dramatically and rolls off Geralt onto the other side of the bed, spreading his legs open as he lands. “Is this suitable for your purposes?”

Geralt doesn’t bother to respond aloud. He rolls himself between Jaskier’s legs and puts the arm not holding the oil across his hips before leaning down to suck the head of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth.

Just as he expected, Jaskier moans and bucks his hips up, trying to get his cock deeper into Geralt’s mouth. It doesn’t work. Geralt’s arm holds his hips in place.

Geralt pulls off and rasps, “If you can avoid choking me, I’ll move my arm.” In all honesty, Geralt isn’t sure that Jaskier could choke him. His cock isn’t abnormal by any means, but it’s certainly much smaller than Geralt’s. It suits him.

“Yes, sure, that is extremely doable, like I’m about to argue with someone sucking me off,” Jaskier says, gratifyingly breathless.

Geralt hmms and moves his arm off his hips. He goes back to sucking Jaskier’s cock, feeling Jaskier’s hands tangle themselves in his hair immediately. Here, every breath Geralt takes is filled with Jaskier’s scent at its strongest, tainted by nothing but the mild smell of the soap they used. He’s tempted to pull off and bury his nose in the spot between Jaskier’s leg and crotch and just _breathe_ , saturate himself with what he’s been missing for the past two and a half months, but Jaskier probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

Focusing on the task at hand, Geralt pops the cork off the vial of oil with one hand and pours it onto the first few fingers of the other. Carefully, he inserts one finger into Jaskier’s hole, pausing every few moments to listen for any sounds of distress. He finds none, save for a sharp gasp that melts into a moan when he first breaches Jaskier’s entrance. The inside of his body is tight and hot around Geralt’s finger, but slowly relaxes around the intrusion; Jaskier’s clearly had experience with being fucked like this, even if it hasn’t been recently. Geralt pauses a moment, still moving his mouth up and down on Jaskier’s cock, before slowly, steadily, putting in a second finger in alongside the first.

_ That  _ makes Jaskier tense up, tightening his hands in Geralt’s hair as his hips arch off the bed. Geralt manages to move with him, but only just. It also prompts the loudest moan yet. Geralt is dizzy with thoughts of how Jaskier will sound when getting properly fucked, if this is how it is when he’s being fingered. He pulls his fingers out to the first knuckle and pushes them back in, beginning to fuck Jaskier in earnest. Geralt maintains some semblance of a rhythm, pushing his fingers in as he goes down on Jaskier’s cock, pausing occasionally to scissor his fingers and stretch Jaskier out further.

When Jaskier is loose enough around two fingers, Geralt pulls them out and adds more oil. He returns to Jaskier’s hole with three, pausing at his rim to stretch it out gently. Jaskier’s moaning is soft and incessant. When Geralt glances up at him, he sees that Jaskier is staring blankly up at the ceiling, flushed pink from his cheeks down to his chest. Geralt watches Jaskier’s face as he pushes three fingers in, watches as he screws his eyes shut and groans loudly, tightening and relaxing around the intrusion. If either of them were less experienced or more patient, Geralt may have added a fourth. But they’re not, so three will have to do.

Three fingers is enough to have Jaskier tossing his head and panting, fingers tight in Geralt’s hair. He gasps, “Geralt,” and Geralt pulls off his cock and wraps the thumb and forefinger of his spare hand around the base. A few moments of shuddering and a soft groan later, Jaskier relaxes into the bed and says, “Thanks. Appreciate it. Don’t want the show over before we get to the main event.”

“Please shut up,” Geralt says. The near-orgasm has Jaskier feeling a touch more relaxed around Geralt’s fingers than he did before. Geralt thrusts them in and out experimentally, giving Jaskier‘s rim a gentle tug. “How do you feel?”

“Fantastic, get up here and get in me,” Jaskier says, tugging lightly at Geralt’s hair. Geralt hmms and removed his fingers from Jaskier’s ass, disregarding the soft unhappy noise it prompts. Jaskier will have something bigger in his ass in a minute, after all. Geralt pours a generous amount of oil onto his hand before finally putting the cork back in the vial. He takes the opportunity to bury his face in the divot of Jaskier’s hip while wrapping his oil-covered hand around his cock, ignoring Jaskier saying, “Geralt? What are you—oh, I see,” and the fingers running themselves through his hair. Geralt takes one more deep breath before wiping his hand off on already-ruined sheets. He moves up the bed to lean over Jaskier and kiss him deeply, practically fucking his mouth with his tongue. When Jaskier sounds suitably blissed out, Geralt pulls back and positions his cock at Jaskier’s entrance.

“Ready?” he asks, voice a low growl.

“Yes, fuck, just put it in me,” Jaskier gasps out. His hands have moved from Geralt’s hair to behind his neck, keeping him trapped within kissing distance.

Geralt does as ordered and starts sliding his cock into Jaskier’s ass. Immediately, both of them gasp, Geralt at the tight heat and Jaskier at the intrusion. Geralt moves slowly, carefully, but doesn’t stop. He watches Jaskier’s face carefully for any sign of pain but sees nothing more than the fluttering of eyelashes. When he’s fully seated in Jaskier, he pauses for a moment, letting him adjust.

From this angle, Geralt can clearly see the way Jaskier’s pupils are blown out, lips swollen and red. He squeezes his eyes shut before looking back up at Geralt, saying, voice  _ completely  _ wrecked, “Oh, fuck, Geralt, I’m—it’s so—I’m sure you get this a lot but I can’t believe that thing fit.”

Geralt smirks. He does get it a lot. “Means more when it’s the truth,” he says. Being encased in Jaskier and not moving is starting to take its toll; Geralt grits his teeth against the urge to pull out of that tight, wet heat and slam back in.

“Okay, I think I’m good,” Jaskier says, squeezing around Geralt. His arms nearly buckle at the increase in pressure, but he manages to stay up. Barely. Geralt pulls out just a touch, a half-inch at most, and fucks back in, a short, shallow thrust. When Jaskier does nothing more than sigh appreciatively, Geralt does it again, and again, pulling out slightly further each time, until he’s fucking Jaskier in earnest, the backdrop of soft moans resuming and then steadily increasing in volume.

From this angle, Geralt can’t get very deep, but that doesn’t seem to matter much to Jaskier. His moaning is getting more ragged, and he snakes a hand between their bodies, wrapping it around his cock. Geralt growls and knocks it out of the way, replacing Jaskier’s hand with his own. That’s  _ his  _ job. Jaskier moans louder in response, tugging Geralt down for a kiss that’s more just breathing into each other’s mouths. That’s fine. It’s the closeness that matters to Geralt, more than anything else, and he can only do so many things—fuck Jaskier, jerk him off, prop himself up—at once.

But the change in angle that comes from kissing Jaskier seems to do excellent things for him, even if it doesn’t change much for Geralt. His moans get louder and louder, and in response, Geralt grips him harder and fucks into him faster. A few moments later, Jaskier’s moans peter off into a high-pitched squeak, his spend spilling onto Geralt’s hand. Geralt fucks him through it, only stopping once Jaskier says, “Enough,” pushing gently at Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt pulls out slowly, sitting back on his heels as he goes. Jaskier looks tired, sated, entirely fucked-out— _ and  _ his hair is mussed up. Good. Geralt looks at his come-covered hand, considering his options.

He licks it. The taste of Jaskier’s spend is pleasantly reminiscent of his body’s scent. Geralt licks the rest of it off, not responding to Jaskier’s quiet, “Oh, fuck, Geralt.” Hand now clean, Geralt reaches down to grip his cock, perfectly happy to jerk himself off to the sight of Jaskier spread out and well-fucked on the bed.

“Hey, I didn’t take your cock only for you to not even come inside me,” Jaskier says, reaching out to grasp Geralt’s wrist.

Geralt looks at Jaskier blankly, not entirely sure what he wants.

“Get back to fucking me, you ridiculous man,” Jaskier says, tugging on Geralt. “Come on, we can pick a different position and everything.”

Geralt considers his options before gently rolling Jaskier onto his side and pushing his top leg up. “This work?”

“Yup, fantastic, now come on, I may have come but I’m not done having your prick in me—“

Geralt acknowledges this with a slight tilt of his head before spooning Jaskier, using one of his arms to support Jaskier’s leg while the other goes under both their heads. He adds a bit more oil to his cock before fucking in again, faster than he did the first time but still watching Jaskier for any discomfort. In this position, he can get much deeper than he could before, even if he has less leverage—a worthy trade-off, in Geralt’s opinion. Post-orgasm Jaskier is looser than before, but just as warm inside; he sighs as Geralt slides back into him. Geralt pulls most of the way back out immediately, thrusting back in quickly but not with undue force. When Jaskier does nothing but hum contentedly, Geralt keeps that pace and rhythm up, taking advantage of the position to mouth at the back of Jaskier’s neck and shoulders.

It takes Geralt several more minutes to come, an eternity that isn’t long enough. When he does come, he thrusts into Jaskier with a deep groan, clutching his leg possessively. They stay curled up like that for a moment, Jaskier entirely silent for once. As Geralt feels himself start to soften, he pulls out slowly, careful not to jostle Jaskier more than he has to. He watches, fascinated, as a small dribble of white spills onto the blanket after his cock.

“I’m going to be hearing that noise as I jerk off for  _ weeks _ ,” Jaskier mumbles. Geralt, to his chagrin, blushes slightly. He’s heard similar before, primarily from prostitutes, but he thinks it’s the first time he’s heard that precise sentiment. Instead of responding directly, he says, “Do you want any help cleaning up?”

Jaskier stretches before saying, “Some assistance getting up would be nice, but I think I can handle cleanup myself.” Geralt dutifully climbs off the bed, extending a hand to Jaskier, who takes it and uses it to push himself up. He stretches as he stands, saying, “I am going to be feeling  _ that _ tomorrow. Not going to be frolicking around any time soon, that’s for sure.”

Geralt smirks and carefully doesn’t watch as Jaskier grabs the wash cloth and goes over to the chamber pot. His eyes land on their forsaken plates of food, still sitting on that table beside the fire. Suddenly, he’s ravenous, an evening of sex and monster hunting catching up with him after the day of travel. Geralt grabs the plates and brings them over to the bed, placing one in his lap and leaving the other off to the side.

When Jaskier sees the plates, he says, “Geralt, you are endlessly full of wonderful ideas,” eagerly climbing back onto the bed. He and Geralt eat in blessed silence, the meat and pierogies cold but still delicious. There’s some arguing over what to do with the plates; Jaskier wants to bring them back down to the kitchen while Geralt would rather leave them until morning. Jaskier sees sense when Geralt points out that going down to the kitchen requires putting clothes on. Argument settled, Geralt lays down in bed, holding his arm open for Jaskier to climb into. Tired and sated in more ways than one, he’s ready to rest, and wants to sleep with Jaskier curled up next to him.

Still quieter than usual, Jaskier obeys the unspoken command and tucks himself into Geralt, the two of them curled into one half of the bed to avoid the wet spot. Still naked, Geralt is spooning Jaskier, one hand underneath their bodies and the other wrapped around his middle. Jaskier is emanating that warm, sleepy contentedness that Geralt missed so much, but made even better by their combined scents and that of sex surrounding them. Geralt hums contentedly, ready to drift off to sleep with Jaskier in his arms, the fire slowly burning itself out in the background. 

“Hey, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, voice quiet.

“Mmm?” Geralt replies.

“The doppler said that it was trying to help you. What was it helping with, exactly?”

“I can’t know for sure,” Geralt says, a touch more awake then he was a few moments before. “But I think it was realizing that I...care for you. Deeply.”

Jaskier hums. “Care for me how? As a friend, or a lover?”

“Either. Both,” Geralt says. “Isn’t it enough that I do?” he asks, oddly vulnerable.

“Of course it is,” Jaskier says, twisting around to face Geralt. “Of course it’s enough, Geralt. Sometimes I think I fall in love with everyone I see, just a little. It’s not fair for me to act like you do as well.” He brushes some of Geralt’s hair back from his face, eyes searching for something that Geralt doesn’t know how to give him. “I’ll have you in whatever capacity I can,” Jaskier says, chin stubborn. “Friend, lover, both. You’re not getting rid of me, understand?”

Geralt hums in acknowledgement and tucks Jaskier back down into bed. He presses a kiss into his hair.

“Come on, sleep. The world’ll be there when we wake up,” Geralt says, murmuring the words into Jaskier’s hair.

And they do. And it is.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been anal sex between two cis men as written by me, a lesbian who doesn't have a penis. There'll probably be a sequel featuring Yennefer at one point. Don't hold your breath.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/friendlyghsot) | [tumblr](https://camphalfbloocl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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